The Opinion of a Certain Noted Detective
“But still there clung One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphung.”
“Facts are stubborn things.”
Meanwhile Mr. Stuyvesant hasted on his way downtown and ere long made his appearance at the bank. He found Mr. Sylvester and Bertram seated in the directors’ room, with a portly smooth-faced man whose appearance was at once strange and vaguely familiar.
“A detective, sir,” explained Mr. Sylvester rising with forced composure; “a man upon whose judgment I have been told we may rely. Mr. Gryce, Mr. Stuyvesant.”
The latter gentleman nodded, cast a glance around the room, during which his eye rested for a moment on Bertram’s somewhat pale countenance, and nervously took a seat.
“A mysterious piece of business, this,” came from the detective’s lips in an easy tone, calculated to relieve the tension of embarrassment into which the entrance of Mr. Stuyvesant seemed to have thrown all parties. “What were the numbers of the bonds found missing, if you please?”
Mr. Stuyvesant told him.
“You are positively assured these bonds were all in the box when you last locked it?”
“I am.”